Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Every fucking year. Tate grabbed his ticket from the valet and made his way into the country clubhouse.
He still didn’t know why his parents threw this party every fucking year.
He’d stopped attending in college. They invited so many people—neighbors, friends, upper and middle management from Skriddie—at the time he’d wondered what he was supposed to get out of the whole event.
He’d figured it out since. It was about the networking, the meeting people, and if he managed to find the right people, enjoying Memorial Day.
He cut straight for the bar, made eye contact with the guy pouring drinks, and smiled. “Hey, man. How’s it going? I’m Tate.” He extended his hand.
“Gary.” The bartender returned the handshake. “What can I get you?”
Tate’s smile grew, and he leaned against the bar. One of the things he’d figured out was finding the right people meant being in the right place. “Whatever you’re making today, I’ll pay you that much more to let me slide back there and serve drinks.”
Gary shook his head, easy expression never fading. “No can do. Sorry, man. I was told whatever you offered, they’d double it if I didn’t let you back here.”
Tate hid his irritation. Avenue number one for enjoying his afternoon, blocked by the woman in charge. One thing he enjoyed about any gathering was taking a spot behind the bar, and getting to know people that way. “They?”
Gary grabbed a glass, and polished an invisible spot. “My employers for the day.”
“Right.” Yup. His mother wanted him mingling, not doing common work.
Might as well make sure the bartender made some cash for the day and strap Marge’s wallet at the same time.
Tate counted five one-hundred dollar bills from his billfold, and laid them on the bar top.
“Keep this, and stay behind the bar. Tell Marge Foster that’s how much I offered you to let me back there. Don’t tell her you took my money.”
“I… you’re kidding, right?”
Tate nudged the bills closer to Gary. “Not at all. Enjoy the party, man.” Time to search out avenue number two.
Something in his chest twinged, and he breathed deep to force it away.
This was nothing. There was no reason to feel bad about plan B for keeping himself occupied during this party.
He scanned the room, and then outside, on the sweeping lawn.
There. The redhead keeping an eye on the buffet table.
Several inches shorter than he was, at least from this distance, with full curves that filled out her white polo shirt and black slacks gorgeously.
Perfect distraction for the next few hours, and great way to remind himself the weekend spent with Lys was strictly a casual thing.
Her name filled his head with memories of her moans, the scent of lilac, her smooth skin pressed against his, the way she squirmed when he touched her in the right places.
He dragged in another shaky breath. That wasn’t a great path to wander down. Except his racing pulse said it was a fantastic place to let his thoughts linger. He stepped out of the flow of people, and leaned against a nearby wall. He should have had Gary pour him a drink while he was at the bar.
A movement caught his attention. His mother, standing all but nose-to-nose with Bryce Thompson, laughing, and running her tongue along her upper lip. His stomach churned at the sight. They could at least try to keep that private. He forced his gaze away.
He spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd, and wove through the small clusters of chatters. Lys and Jared’s parents. “Holly. Robert.” He held his arms out.
“You look beautiful, as always.” He gave Holly a quick hug, and peck on the cheek. She did, too. An older version of Alyssia, gray around the temples, but still with a smile for everyone. “Sir.” He clasped Robert’s hand and pulled him into a quick hug as well.
“You look tired.” Holly’s voice was lined with concern. “You’re working too hard.”
The genuine tone warmed Tate. “I do what the job requires.” The Tippins were more like his parents than his own folks.
Growing up, they’d always welcomed him at home, and treated him as well as they had their own children.
Sometimes he envied Robert and Holly’s relationship, but they had one of those happily ever afters that only existed in fairy tales.
The lucky one in a million. And a great reminder of what Lys deserved that he couldn’t offer. “How are you both doing?”
“Wishing retirement weren’t so far off.” Robert chuckled.
They chatted for several more minutes, before someone else called them away. As they headed off, Holly hung back. She tugged Tate aside, voice low enough he barely made out her words above the din. “Don’t let them drive you into the ground. I mean it. Take care of yourself.”
“Thanks.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll do my best.”
Time to make the rounds, meet some people, have some fun.
“What are you wearing?” A familiar voice clawed its way under his good mood.
He froze a pleasant expression in place, and spun. “Mother. I was wondering if you’d pull yourself away from Mr. Thompson long enough to say hello.”
She pointed a glare at his shirt. “Did you forget to have someone pick up your laundry? Oh, for heaven’s sake. What’s she doing here?”
He followed his mother’s gaze back to the clubhouse, and his mind checked out.
Lys stood in the doorway, blue sundress stark against her pale skin, and hugging every inch of her figure.
It ended a few inches above her knees, leaving her long legs on display.
He struggled to pull his attention away.
It was a good question, though. Her parents still came to these parties because they were friends of the family.
Jared showed up because it was a work thing.
But Lys… She could have opted out ages ago.
Yet he couldn’t remember a single year he hadn’t seen her there.
“I have people to talk with.” He stepped in her direction.
“Yes, you do.” His mother grabbed his sleeve, and redirected him. “I want you to meet someone.”
A snarl bubbled in his throat, but he followed where she was pointing. And then looked again. “Who’s that?”
“The young woman over there.” She nodded at a girl standing just a few feet away.
Tate raised his brows. “Is she even legal?”
“She’ll be twenty this fall.” Marge pulled him toward the girl. “She’s the Senator’s daughter, and she’s dying to meet you.”
“She’s still a kid.”
“When you wait as long as you have to get married, you can’t be picky.” She pasted on a plastic smile as they drew within earshot. “Bonnie. This is Tate.”
Irritation bubbled inside. Bonnie didn’t deserve his wrath, but so help him he wanted to ask his mother why she kept doing shit like this. God, it was going to be a long day.
* * *
Lys wandered through the clubhouse, making sure she made eye contact, smiling at anyone who noticed her, and trying to keep her expression friendly. Why did she keeping coming to this thing? She should be at the shelter, catching up on work.
It had been too good a chance to pass up, though. She’d always gotten along with the guests in the past, and had several of them tell her if she ever needed any help…
This was her opportunity to mingle, shake hands, and maybe let it slip that her shelter was raising donations to buy the building they were in. Except every time she told herself that was her goal, her gut churned in nervous protest. Networking wasn’t her thing. Tate was good at it.
His name added a new edge to her apprehension. She hadn’t heard from him since the note he left Sunday morning. Not that she should expect to. It wasn’t like he called her every day, normally. This was just how things were.
She tugged down the skirt of her dress, and scanned the crowds. So why couldn’t she stop searching for his face?
Her gaze landed on someone else instead, and acid rose in her throat.
Bryce Thompson Jr., taking pictures of something with his phone.
She wasn’t sure what. One of the girls serving drinks, possibly.
Or the food. Or… she didn’t even want to know.
She turned her attention back anything else.
Keeping her distance from him would be important today.
She found Tate, and her heart sank. He stood next to his mother, chatting up a girl who was smiling as if she’d just won the lottery. She’d giggle, and then rest her hand on Tate’s arm. Twirl her hair around her finger. Lean in closer.
If she got close enough, would she see the lines around Tate’s eyes that always appeared when he was wearing a mask? Or would she see the genuine expression he wore when he was picking someone up? The same look he’d had with her the night before.
Why had she thought that? Damn it. She turned back into the clubhouse, and headed for the bar. Maybe a drink would help her relax. Or she could go hunt down Jared and Mikki. Mikki’s tactics for meeting people tended to be more blunt that Tate’s, but she still had a gift for it.
Alyssia ordered a glass of white wine, and wandered back into the gardens. So many people wearing so many masks. This was why she liked animals. They were sweet, and accepting, and non-judgmental, and totally not intimidating.
The longer she studied the crowds, the further she drifted from them, until she lingered in a corner. The din drifted toward her, but no longer so loud it kept her from being able to think. Why had she even come to this party?
“Hey.” A rough voice assaulted her ears, and she looked up to see Bryce Jr. approaching. “You’re that bitch who stole my dog.
Her lungs squeezed and she forced herself to draw a breath. She stepped to the side, to move around him. “I need to see someone. They’re waiting right over there.” She nodded at the general area behind him.
“Not until we’re done.” He blocked her path.
Every time he breathed on her, the stench of alcohol assaulted her senses.
Who the hell had given him a drink? Though he was only seventeen, he was at least six inches taller than her, and twice as wide in the shoulders.
He poked a finger in her chest, and her breastbone winced both in pain and panic.
“You’re going down. You know that, right? ”
“Bryce, buddy.” Tate’s voice cut through her spiraling panic. Bryce whirled. In a single motion, Tate grabbed his hand in what looked like a friendly grip—except Alyssia saw Tate’s knuckles pale—and pushed the younger man out of her path. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Let go of me, queer-boy.” Bryce jerked out of his grip with a growl.
Tate’s smile never wavered, but Alyssia had never seen him show so many teeth. “Tell you what.” The pleasantness vanished from his voice. “Why don’t you walk away now, and go check out the banquet table.”
Bryce stepped closer to Tate. “Why don’t you leave and let me talk to the bitch?”
Tate growled, and faster than Alyssia could blink, his forearm was pressed to Bryce’s throat, and he had the boy pinned to the wall. “Leave. Or I stop asking nicely.”
Bryce choked out a response that might have been, “Fuck you.” Tate pushed harder.
“Is everything all right?” Marge Foster joined the group.
Alyssia’s head spun, and her pulse hammered in her throat. Why was her quiet corner suddenly the highest traffic area in the clubhouse?
“Everything’s fine.” Tate stepped back, and his expression went flat.
No smile, no frown, just a blank mask. He straightened his clothes with a single shrug, and wrapped his arm around Alyssia’s waist. The shock of his touch overloaded her already crowded thoughts, and she struggled with the desire to lean into him.
She wasn’t a helpless damsel in distress.
Except right now she felt like one, and she wasn’t sure she minded the possession Tate’s grip conveyed.
“I was just walking Ms. Tippins to her car.” Tate steered her around his mother and Bryce without hesitation. “Keep walking. Don’t look at anyone.” His voice was low, meant only for her ears.
He didn’t say another word on the short journey to the valet, and she wasn’t sure if she could manage any of her own. His flat mask never wavered. He waited by her side while the hop fetched her car, and walked her to the driver’s door.
“Thank you.” She managed the soft words as she slid into the vehicle.
He clenched his jaw. “Don’t worry about it.” Why wouldn’t he look at her?
“Are you all right?”
“I’m good. You should probably get home.”
She didn’t like this. Cold, removed. Tate had never been like that with her. Awkward was one thing, but this cut deep, leaving gashes in her thoughts. She couldn’t help trying one more time. “Are you sticking around? We could go somewhere. Hang out.”
A tremor ran through the car, and she realized he was clutching the door so hard his fingers shook. He finally looked at her, and the dark cloud in his gaze dug deeper than his indifference. “Go home, Alyssia. Or, somewhere else. Just…” He inhaled through his nose. “Go.”
Her full name. She forced herself to smile, despite the tears stinging her eyes. At least he was cutting her off fast and completely. No false hope or anything there. “Right. See you around. Or not.”
She yanked her door shut before she could discover if he had a response. And tossed the car into gear. It was better this way. He probably knew that. She just had to convince her own heart of it.